I wrote this story quite awhile ago. I've always been interested in paranormal stuff so it figures I'd choose to write about that. I'm also fascinated by biblical type stories even though I don't believe in god, so it doesn't really mean anything. I would like to see something someday though, help me decide what I believe. Anyway, this story was getting lost in the Internet forum I posted it on so I thought I'd resurrect it here. I wrote it after a night of brainstorming while doing papers, which means I was on no sleep, and I've yet to really attempt to edit it or anything. Hopefully this will motivate me to expand details on whats already been written and write more, I just don't know where to go with it. Any constructive criticism or ideas for continuing the story is more then welcome.

You’ve always wanted to see something like it, at least that’s what you’ve always said. There are thousands of stories, but you’ve always wanted your own.

When you think about it there are more positives then negatives, delivering newspapers. That’s if you don’t weigh their value. That’s if you don’t assign them a certain point system based on their importance. Good money, only a couple hours a day, easy, no boss to answer to day in and day out. The one real negative though, is boredom. Mind numbing monotony.

On your first day, you think you’ll never be able to remember all those houses. Then your first week you start remembering parts of the route. Soon you stop using your list altogether. It’s not long until if you stopped and thought about a specific house, you’d have no recollection of ever doing it. You delivered to it alright, but if you stop and think about it, you don’t remember it. You don’t think about it anymore. You just do it. Day in and day out you drive the same route. You do it subconsciously now.

Nothing can satisfy your insatiable appetite for music. Every day you download several CDs and everyday you exhaust them. Soon you turn to audio books, anything to combat the silence, take your mind off the utter repetitiveness of it all. There are only so many books in the world though. So many stories to be told.

Out there with no one else around, everyone asleep in their beds, your mind begins to race. You begin praying for something to happen. You imagine pulling up upon a raging inferno, the family screaming from the windows. You dream of happening upon a white van with no windows backed into the driveway of a house that you know the residents are gone from, masked men loading electronics into the back. You beg to see silhouetted figures, one on knees with hands up in fright, one with hands clenched together, the shadow of a knife facing downwards.

Just so you can have a really good story to tell. Something to come from the boredom you face everyday, besides paying the bills. How you raced into the inferno, pulling kids out as the fire trucks pulled up. How you watched from down the street as the police pulled into the driveway just before the white van took off. How you sat on the witness stand and pointed toward the defendant saying loudly, “It was him!”

The story you get however, isn’t the one you'd hoped for.

One moment it’s just another day, another paper to deliver, but as you look back to the road, your life changes. A white flash, all it takes to start a spiral. You glance up and a bright, glowing flash of a white… thing, flies across the road in a matter of seconds. The left side of the road where it came from was a deep valley yet it appeared to have come from no lower then the road, so it must have flew. It only took a second or less for it to be up the hill on the right side of the road and gone.

It’s at this point in your reiterating the story to family or friends that you’ll inevitably see eyes roll and hear countless theories. It was just a deer and you didn’t see it well. You were tired and your eyes were seeing flashes of light that weren’t there. You’re crazy.

This is however Michigan. Doing a paper route during all hours of the night you see endless amounts of deer. You can’t even keep count. None of these deer, however, glowed white, no matter how bright you had had your lights, and even if they had they wouldn’t have done so the entire time they went by, just as they passed in front of you. Not too mention you have never seen a deer move as fast as that thing had moved. You weren’t tired at all as well. You hadn’t started to doze, you didn’t feel tired, you showed no signs of exhaustion. As for the crazy, well, that’s for others to judge.

After it had passed you just stared in disbelief, forgetting what you were even doing. You always wanted a story of your own. A real life, in your life anyway, paranormal experience to call tell at will. Proof for all those years you had believed without any proof to offer. A reason to have believed all the Sylvia Brownes in life.

You didn’t realize that this was nothing. You didn’t realize what this would do to you. One moment your safe and ignorant and believe just because you want to believe. The next you’re grasping, clinging to any scrap of proof to prove your point, desperate to have something to show all those people who think your insane that you aren’t. You failed to realize that all this story would get you was ridicule. It started you down a life obsessed with what you thought was the necessity of proving to anyone and everyone that you are right, and what you saw was real.

One thing leads to another and before you know it…

Whoever said curiosity killed the cat wasn’t bullshitting you.

Whoever said ignorance is bliss wasn’t fucking around

P.S. I was definitely channeling Palahniuk when I wrote this.


So, this is going to be extremely sappy. It might be because I've been up all night, but I feel like saying it.

Since high school, I've had no clue at all what I want to do with my life. I've gone back and forth trying to decide what degree I should be working toward and what career I should pursue. Luckily though, I found the woman I love very early. She was always very set on children. When this subject came up, I was always scared beyond belief. I knew I would want children, but I still had no idea what I was going to do with my life.

Now however, it's fairly obvious to me. I want to be a father first and foremost. Emmy has changed my life. Watching her play, and laugh and ramble in seemingly another language. When I get home after work and she sees me, and throws down whatever she was doing and runs across the room to me. When shes climbing up the stairs and stopping every few steps to make sure I'm still behind her, or holding my hand as we walk.

It doesn't really matter anymore what I want to do with my career, because I know what my life really is. My career is just simply a way to pay for that. I could do the worst job in the entire world and coming home to my children will make it all worth while.